


Nocturnal Logic

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Late at night, Tucker and Reed find they have something in common. (04/26/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 1.16 "Shuttlepod One."  
  
This is a kind of penance for all the deathfics I've been writing recently. A  
few listsibsâ€”including certain blood relatives of mineâ€”have been asking/pleading/threatening that I should write another fic with a happy ending and little or no bloodshed. Kageygirl went so far as to suggest it incorporate the following: flowers, chocolate and a moonlit stroll. Well, being that it's me writing this, this is probably not quite what she was imagining, but it does end well and nobody dies. I promise. This fic is also AU to all my other stuff, just so no one gets confused. ;-)  
  
Thank you to Squeaky, my beautiful and bountiful beta.  


* * *

Trip Tucker opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling of his quarters on _Enterprise_. Normally it would be too dark to see, but they were currently orbiting a Menshara-class planet with a bright sun and several moons. Moonlight was silvering everything in his room, casting long and ghostly shadows. He could see easily, even with no lights on.

He held one of his hands in front of his face, palm upward, and watched the quiet tremor in the fingers. His heart was racing.

He hadn't had a nightmare this bad in a long time.

_I'm in my quarters,_ Trip thought, _I'm on the ship. I'm okay._ He rarely had nightmares anymore, now that he was an adult. Even more rare were the ones where he had to remind himself where he was when he awakened, convince his aching mind that everything was all right.

He sat up in his bed, slapping the lights on. The white glare made him wince and squint his eyes, but it was better than the ethereal moonlight. It made everything look normal again, real. He was safe, at home, on _Enterprise._ They'd been rescued from the damaged shuttle pod weeks ago.

So he hadn't really been back there, shivering in the dark, waiting either to suffocate or freeze to death. He wasn't cold; there was no reason to be frightened.

Malcolm wasn't dead.

Trip rubbed his face vigorously with one hand. That had been the crux of the nightmare, the worst part of a very bad dream. In the dream Malcolm had been the one who decided to crawl into the airlock, out of reach of even the minimal life support. Trip had been the one trying to stop him, but he couldn't. He hadn't been able to move, couldn't even speak, the typical paralysis of nightmares. He'd just watched, frozen like ice, while Malcolm painfully climbed up to the airlock, crawled inside and slid the hatch shut behind him. Trip had been trying to stand, trying to crawl his way to the ladder when he'd finally come awake.

In his dream he'd known absolutely that Malcolm was dying, that he'd be dead by the time Trip managed to actually stand and try to help him. The panic, the terror of that certainty, was still with him, still making him shake.

"It was just a dream, Trip," he whispered into the quiet of the room, "just a dream. Nothing happened."

There was a comm. panel over his bed, right next to the lights. His hand was actually hovering over it before Trip realized what he was doing. "No way!" He yanked his hand back, "no _way_ are you gonna comm. Malcolm in the middle of the night. You're fine; he's fine; everyone's fine..." Trip sighed, rested his forearms on his drawn-up knees, dropped his forehead onto them. At some point during the night He'd moved so much the sheets and blankets had been swept right off the bed onto the deck. He was only wearing a lose pair of pajama bottoms. No wonder he'd been dreaming of the shuttle pod—he'd probably just been cold.

He sighed again, and lay back down on his side, stretched his legs out. He reached blindly for the blanket and dragged it back on top of himself, shaking and kicking it to straighten it out. He reached up with his other hand and smacked at the light switch, putting the room once again into moonlit darkness.

He lay like that for what seemed like a very long time, looking out at the gray-tinged shadows.

Trip rolled onto his back, eying the comm again. All he had to do was reach up and press it, open a channel to the lieutenant's quarters. Listen to Malcolm's no-doubt sleepy, confused and probably irritated voice asking him what was wrong. Make sure he was all right.

_Of course he's alright,_ Trip thought angrily to himself, _and he'll be pissed enough to tear a strip outta your hide._

Somehow, though, that didn't seem as terrible a proposition as it might normally have been. Trip realized he actually didn't care how angry Malcolm might be, so long as he could talk to him.

"It was just a stupid dream, Trip," he growled to himself, but he was already sitting up again, had already reached up and hit the comm.

"Yes, Commander?" Trip blinked; Malcolm had answered immediately, like he'd been waiting for the call.

"Uh, yeah..." Trip swallowed, realizing belatedly that he actually had no idea what to say.

"Commander?" Malcolm sounded...Trip wasn't sure. Tired, maybe? That would make sense, but there was something else there, too. A kind of weariness; but nothing to do with lack of sleep.

"Malcolm?" Trip found himself asking, "Are y'all right?"

"I'm fine, Commander," Malcolm answered with his typical brusqueness, but now Trip was certain: something was wrong. He could hear it in the lieutenant's voice, an extra tightness under the words.

"Was there an actual reason why you called?" Malcolm asked.

Trip winced, realizing he still hadn't thought of an excuse. "Uh," he started, "I just—" _Just what, Trip?_ He thought, _I just had a nightmare and needed to hear your voice? I just couldn't bear it if anything happened to you?_

There was a long, expectant pause on the other end of the comm.

"I just, I just wanted to make sure the comm. was workin' okay." He covered his eyes with his free hand as he spoke, shaking his head at the feeble excuse. "I was, uh, havin' some trouble with it earlier, and since y'were still awake n' all..."

Trip could imagine Malcolm raising a single eyebrow Vulcan-style, looking dubiously at the comm. "I see, sir," came his habitually crisp response. "I'm glad I could be of service." Was that sarcasm? It was very hard to tell, especially without being able to see the lieutenant's face. "Will that be all?"

"Yeah," Trip mumbled back, "yeah, that'll be fine. Thanks." He took his thumb off the comm button, then turned so he could gently smack his forehead into the wall. "That was brilliant, Trip. Just friggin' brilliant. If he didn't already think you were outta your teeny-tiny mind..."

But at least Malcolm was okay. That was something.

Trip frowned; no, not okay. Not entirely. He remembered the way Malcolm's voice had sounded when the lieutenant had first answered the comm. The fact that he hadn't been sleeping.

"No," Trip muttered to himself, "you are _not_ goin' there." He lay back down again, rolled onto his side. If something was bothering Malcolm, something keeping him awake at all hours of the night, there was no point in Trip fretting about it. The lieutenant would tell him when he was good and ready.

...Which would be never, of course.

"Fuck it." Trip yanked the blanket aside and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood, hitched his pajamas up a bit and tied them properly, then went to root around for a t-shirt. There was more than enough moonlight to see by; he didn't bother turning on the lights.

* * *

This late at night, there was no one around in the corridors. Which was good, since Trip had no idea what he'd say to anyone who asked why he was wandering around in pajamas and bare feet. Moonlit stroll, perhaps? There was plenty of moonlight, but none of it was visible this deep inside the ship. He couldn't say he was going to the mess for milk or something, either: Malcolm's cabin was in the opposite direction.

Besides, he was carrying two foil-wrapped packets of hot cocoa mix. It wasn't like you couldn't find that in the mess.

But there had been no one to wonder, and now he was right in front of the lieutenant's door and all he had to do was press the buzzer and presumably Malcolm would let him in. Presumably. If he hadn't gone back to bed already, or just decided he'd had enough of his insane commander for one night.

Trip hesitated, thinking how stupid this was, how much it was a sure invitation for disaster. He had no reason to be there, after all. At least, no reason that would make sense during the day. But the night, his awful dream, the oppressive moonlight had all given their own kind of nocturnal logic; he might regret this in the morning—almost certainly would, if he knew Malcolm at all—but right now, right now he was almost sure he could hear Malcolm behind the door, pacing like a caged animal. Felt like he could even see it, if he closed his eyes.

He sighed, hit the door chime. Night was a good time to be an idiot. Might as well bring it on.

The pause between the chime and the door sliding open was infinitesimal. Malcolm looked out at him, one forearm raised and leaning against the doorframe. He was shirtless, wearing only loose gray jogging pants—obviously he hadn't been expecting visitors. Malcolm's eyes were shadowed black in the dim light of the corridor, backlit by the bright light on in his room. His hair was messy from sleep. His face was as closed and expressionless as always, but the lieutenant's whole attitude reflected weariness and something close to despair.

"Sweet Jesus, Malcolm," Trip said immediately, "are you okay?"

Malcolm just looked at him, his eyes flickering as he took in Trip's own disheveled appearance: the mismatched t-shirt and pajama pants and his bare feet. His voice was as distant and cold as Trip had ever heard it when he spoke.

"Something I can do for you, Commander?"

Trip's first instinct was to say 'no,' to back off and go back to his cabin and pretend this had never happened. God knew that Malcolm would never mention it again. But Malcolm's face reminded him too much of his dream and he just couldn't let it go. "I wanted to talk to you."

Malcolm might have let out a near-inaudible sigh. "Is it urgent? It's awfully late—"

Trip crossed his arms, the foil packets crinkled in hand. "Are you sleepin'?"

Malcolm closed his eyes briefly, then stepped back, gesturing for Trip to enter. Trip had to squint against the sudden change in brightness between Malcolm's room and the cool dimness of the corridor. He glanced at Malcolm's bed; it was unmade, which meant Malcolm had at least tried to sleep. But the consol on his desk was on, showing at least a month's worth of maintenance schedules. Trip gestured at it with the hand holding the packets. "Burnin' the midnight oil?"

Malcolm didn't answer, instead taking the packets from Trip's hand. He looked at it, then back up at the commander, eyebrows raised. "Hot cocoa mix?"

Trip shrugged, gave him a small smile. "Next time I c'n bring flowers..."

If Malcolm heard that comment he ignored him; instead taking the mix over to the little countertop where he had a kettle and some mugs. He went to hit the on switch on the kettle, then paused. He looked back at Trip for a moment as if deciding something, then went ahead and turned the kettle on.

"Y'don't have t'have any if you don't want," Trip said.

"It's fine, Commander," Malcolm said, not looking at him. He methodically ripped both cocoa packets open, tipping their contents into two mugs.

Trip rubbed the back of his neck, feeling more and more awkward as the silence grew around them. The kettle began to hiss and then to whistle, and Malcolm shut it off. Trip watched him pour the water carefully into the two mugs, then stir each one with a spoon. Malcolm did each small task as deftly, as delicately, as he handled weapons repair. For some reason, that made Trip disappointed.

"Does that uniform ever come off?" He was overtired—the words were out of his mouth before he consciously thought about speaking them.

Malcolm whirled, spoon still poised over the second mug. "I beg your pardon?" His expression of shock was quickly sliding into anger. "I mean," Trip said, gesturing at Malcolm's neat little preparations, "it's cocoa, f'r God's sake, not a bomb. Don't you ever relax?"

Trip was already cringing inwardly as soon as he spoke. But for a second—just a second—the expression on the lieutenant's face wasn't the righteous anger he'd been expecting. For a moment Malcolm looked like he'd been gut-punched. Then his face shuttered completely and he turned away. Trip could hear the furious clinking as the spoon banged back and forth against the sides of the mug.

"If I relax, Commander," Malcolm leaned on Trip's title like it was something he had to suffocate, "if I let down my guard, people might die."

Trip watched as Malcolm removed the spoon and placed it carefully beside the two mugs on the counter. He picked up the light blue mug and put it on the desk. His storm-blue eyes glared at Trip, but he said nothing.

Trip made no move to pick up his own mug; the sarcastic retort he'd been about to give sliding out of his mind. "I'm sorry," he said in its place. "That must be...that must be a hard way to live." He glanced again at Malcolm's barely-used bed. "Is that why you can't sleep?"

"No."

Trip looked away, picked up his mug. The ceramic was warm between his hands; he hadn't realized how cold they were. He took a sip himself; let the hot sweetness cool a moment on his tongue before he swallowed.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" Malcolm asked. He picked up his mug, wrapped his hands around it as if searching out the meager warmth. "That you're...concerned about my effectiveness?"

"What?" Trip blinked. "No! No, Malcolm," He said, starting forward. He stopped, hesitating because of Malcolm's expression. "That's not it at all." He took another sip as Malcolm watched, giving himself some time. There was no way he was going to admit he'd come all the way over here because of a dream. "I was just worried about you. Is all." He drank from the mug again, barely tasting it. He could feel the blush racing up his neck and face like flame.

Malcolm looked mildly confused. "You're worried that I don't relax."

"No," Trip said quickly, then: "well, yeah. But that's not all of it." He added at Malcolm's darkening expression. Finally he just gave up, sighing and running his fingers through his hair. "On the comm, before. You sounded—" He shrugged. "You sounded upset about something. I wanted to, I came here because I just wanted to make sure that you're all right."

"I see." Malcolm said. He sipped at the cocoa, looking at the far wall of his small room. "Well, I'm fine, Commander. Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine."

"Why don't you ever call me 'Trip?'"

Malcolm glanced at him sharply, obviously taken aback at the sudden leap in their conversation. "What?"

Trip put his mug down on the immaculate desk, a little harder than he'd intended. A bit of cocoa sloshed over the side, dripped down onto the plastic surface. "You call me 'Commander' all the damn time," Trip said, "even when we're off duty." He gestured at them both, what they were wearing. "We're in _pajamas,_ f'r Christ's sake, and you're still callin' me 'Commander.' Is that all I am to you?"

Malcolm had retreated again. It was like a dance Trip didn't know the steps to. "You are my superior officer," Malcolm said.

"I thought I was your friend."

Malcolm opened his mouth, stopped. He sipped at his mug before he spoke again. "You are." The words were almost inaudible.

"My friends call me Trip." He shouldn't be doing this to him, Trip knew, not so late at night, not like this. It was almost cruelty, he could see it in Malcolm's eyes: He was forcing him towards a kind of abyss, something neither of them could escape from. But he couldn't help himself; it was like rubbing at a wound.

Malcolm was staring down into his mug. "I do," he said.

"Not when I'm around."

Malcolm nodded. He didn't look up. "No. Not when you're around."

Trip stared at him, perplexed. He knew this revelation was something amazing—his heart had started beating as if it was—but he was too tired, too anxious to know what it might mean. "Why don't you?" He asked, "I don't understand."

Malcolm looked up at him at last, but his eyes were dark with anguish. "Have you ever had a dream where someone you cared about died?"

Trip could feel his heart shuddering in his chest; the sudden jump in rhythm was almost painful. "Yes I have," he said.

He wasn't sure what Malcolm had expected him to say, but the other man just nodded. He looked at his mug again, then put it down with a gentle _click_ onto the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring back at the same wall. He looked horribly young and vulnerable. Trip wanted to put his arms around him, rub his back until he could feel the skin was warm, but he didn't move.

"I dreamed you died." Malcolm said.

Trip's eyes went wide. "In the shuttle pod?"

Malcolm glanced at him, then shook his head. He swallowed. "No. In engineering. There was a fire. The emergency hatches had all sealed shut." Malcolm's voice was flat, but he pressed his arms tighter to his chest. "I couldn't get there in time. I tried, but the hatches wouldn't open." He took a breath, eyes straight ahead at the gray wall. "I could hear you, as you died. Screaming."

"God," Trip breathed, imagining it, only with Malcolm on the wrong side of the hatch. Malcolm in the shuttle's airlock, dying. "Oh God, that's awful."

Malcolm shrugged, a tight jerk of tense muscle. "It was just a dream."

Trip stepped forward, reaching for him. Malcolm flinched when Trip touched his arm, but didn't pull away. "I know about bad dreams." He pulled, gently, and made Malcolm turn towards him. "I dreamed you died too, Malc," he said, looking down into his unreadable eyes. "In the shuttle pod. I couldn't save you, either. That's why I came here," He said. He licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. But there was no turning back now, not tonight.

He lifted his free hand, cupped the side of Malcolm's face. Malcolm's eyes widened but he didn't move. "I don't want you to die, Malcolm." He said simply. Then he leaned in and kissed him.

Trip could feel Malcolm's surprise at the touch; feel the lieutenant tense, but he didn't pull back. Trip kissed him softly, gently exploring. Malcolm made a noise like longing in the back of his throat, opened his lips to let Trip's tongue slip inside. His mouth tasted like chocolate and was wonderfully warm.

"Oh, God," Malcolm moaned. Then his fingers were sliding around to Trip's back, up under his t-shirt, tracing fire along his spine. With his other hand he reached up to the back of Trip's head, pulling him down to him, forcing him closer as his kiss grew desperate, then ferocious. He moved forward, forcing Trip to back up until he was leaning against the desk. He sat on the edge of it to accommodate the smaller lieutenant, making a gentle fist in the short hair at the back of Malcolm's head. He let go of Malcolm's arm so he could run his palm over his chest.

Malcolm took a shuddering breath as Trip touched a nipple, panting into the commander's mouth. His fingers pressed into Trip's back. Their erections brushed together as Malcolm shifted and the jolt of pleasure made Trip gasp.

Malcolm drew back. His hands had somehow moved to Trip's chest, and they were both fisted in his shirt like it was a lifeline. The lieutenant's eyes were dilated, his face flushed. He had to take a few deep breaths before he spoke.

"We shouldn't be doing this."

Trip dropped his hands to Malcolm's waist, holding him loosely. He could feel the lieutenant's rich, living heat under his skin. He swallowed; had to hunt the words up from somewhere far deep in his mind before he could speak. "Do you want me to leave?"

Something like horror flashed through Malcolm's eyes. "No," he said. "God help me. No, I don't." Then he kissed Trip again, all but attacking his mouth. Trip felt their teeth clash together, like animals, then Malcolm's tongue was sliding against his again. He felt his shirt being pulled up and lifted his arms to help, only ducking his head long enough to let Malcolm slide it completely off him. Malcolm's palms dragged almost roughly over his ribs, then grabbed his wrists and pulled him away from the desk. They walked together, still kissing, until they both fell onto the small bed, facing each other.

Trip felt Malcolm's palm press against his cock, and he hissed, arching into the touch. Malcolm started tugging at the waistband of his pajamas and Trip helped him get them off, pushing them onto the floor with his feet. Malcolm quickly lifted his hips and pulled off his jogging pants, almost whimpering with impatience. He leaned forward until Trip could feel his lips and the touch of his teeth just under his ear.

Blindly, Trip reached for Malcolm's cock, feeling the silky thickness of it. Malcolm groaned and pushed into his hand, nipped the lobe of his ear. Then Trip felt Malcolm's fist around his own erection, smearing the drops around the tip with his thumb.

"Jesus!" He grit his teeth for control, feeling himself throbbing, so hard it was almost painful. Malcolm's mouth moved back to his and they kissed hungrily. Malcolm bucked into him, pressing their cocks together. Trip moved his hand so it was clasped with Malcolm's, fingers laced together. They thrust in tandem, stroking themselves and each other.

Trip came first, shuddering as he cried out with his completion. A moment later Malcolm threw his head back, eyes shut tight as his climax washed over him.

"Wow," Trip laughed, a little breathlessly. He pulled Malcolm closer to him, nuzzling at the space between his neck and shoulder. He could feel streaks of sweat under his hand on Malcolm's back. "That was...that was amazin'."

Malcolm just sighed contentedly, snuggling closer to him. "Mmm." He muttered sleepily, and Trip smiled, pressing a small kiss to his temple.

"Go t'sleep, Malc," he whispered. He closed his eyes; fell asleep to Malcolm's breathing.

* * *

He woke up cold. He reached for Malcolm but the space beside him was empty.

"Malcolm?" Trip sat up in bed, yawning and rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand. Malcolm's room didn't have a porthole, but the bathroom door was open and the light was spilling out into the cabin. Malcolm was standing in the doorway between his bathroom and the rest of his quarters. He had a towel tied around his waist and he was drying his hair.

"Is it mornin' already?" Trip asked. He squinted at the light, trying to make out the time on the softly-glowing consol on the desk.

"No," Malcolm said quietly, "I couldn't sleep." He finished with his hair, looked at the towel for a moment as if at a loss as to what to do with it. He was backlit again, and it was impossible for Trip to make out his features, but the lieutenant kept glancing away from him, as if unwilling to look at his face. He finally turned and hung the towel up on a hook in the bathroom.

"You were sleepin' before," Trip said, but Malcolm didn't answer him. He watched Malcolm cross over to the other side of the room, begin pulling out fresh clothes. "Malcolm?" Trip stood, shivering slightly in the cool air. He gave a cursory glance for his pajamas, then went over to the lieutenant.

Malcolm froze when Trip touched his back. Trip could hear his breath catch.

"Please, Commander," Malcolm said, voice tight, "don't."

"Malcolm?" Trip asked again, "what's wrong?" He tried to rub Malcolm's back, but the lieutenant pulled away from him, straightening but not turning around.

"I told you last night," Malcolm said. "We shouldn't have...done what we did. It was a mistake."

"A mistake?" Trip asked, incredulous, "y'think that was a mistake?" He grabbed Malcolm's shoulder, made him turn around. Malcolm leaned against the cupboard door, his face a shadowed mask. "Malcolm—" Trip went to thread his fingers through the other man's hair, but Malcolm turned his head away from him. Trip dropped his hands, stepped back. "What do you mean, it was a mistake?" He asked softly.

"Last night," Malcolm swallowed. "Last night, I let my guard down. I shouldn't have done that."

"Right," Trip said, remembering: "if you let down your guard, people might die."

Malcolm just nodded miserably.

"Oh, Malc!" Trip wasn't sure if he laughed or sobbed, but he grabbed Malcolm and pulled him into an embrace before he could protest. His hair was still damp, and it smelled sweet and clean. "I'm not dead, Malcolm," Trip held him tight. "I'm right here. I'm fine. I'm just fine."

He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding when he felt Malcolm's arms slowly come up to encircle his back. The lieutenant leaned into him with a sigh, resting his head against Trip's shoulder.

"What if I can't save you, Trip?" Malcolm asked, "what if something happens and I can't save you?"

"Things happen, Malc," Trip said, rubbing his cheek against Malcolm's temple. "You can't predict everything."

Malcolm lifted his head to look at Trip. His expression was fierce in the dim light. "That's not good enough."

"It has to be," Trip said seriously, "that's just the way it is."

"Damn," Malcolm sighed. But he dropped his head down to Trip's shoulder again, this time letting himself relax against him. "I didn't want this to happen."

"I know," Trip said gently, "I know." He moved his hands to Malcolm's waist, but only moved back enough so that he could give him a small kiss on his mouth. "But it wouldn't have made anything easier."

"Probably not," Malcolm said. He drew himself up, and the familiar humor was back in his eyes, though his smile was still a little sad. "But I doubt I'll stop having nightmares."

Trip grinned at him. "Me neither. But I think it'll be worth it."

"Me too, Trip," Malcolm said, "me too."

But before Trip could react to that, Malcolm was kissing him again. And this time it was slow and sweet and full of promise, as if they had all the time in the world.


End file.
